Mayan Key

By Keith Jones

Russell Palmer's adventure in the Yucatan Peninsula continues as he strives to recover the valuable Mayan key to extend time beyond December 2012. But his efforts pit Palmer against local authorities, brutal opportunists, and superstitious Mayan legends. Palmer unwillingly pulls police officer Gabriela Reynoso into his quest as they race to Belize to uncover ancient clues. Will Palmer survive this triumvirate of doom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salvo Press
• Release date: Nov 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9781627934268

Keith Jones

Hello, My name is Keith Jones. I was raised in the Mid-West and now I travel abroad passing on my message to the masses. This is my second book that I am proud ot present to you.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The dank aroma of centuries of sweat and sweltering humidity emanated from the darkened chamber’s limestone block walls. Makeshift concrete slathered unevenly by human hands filled the nooks and crannies, smoothing the walls’ rough surfaces. Exposed earth packed by generations of unclad feet of Maya royalty and warriors served as the floor.

Brilliant sunlight filtered around the perimeter of a black spotted jaguar pelt hanging in the rectangular entry, the sole access. Although it was considered superior accommodations to the reigning royalty, the room barely measured three meters square. Its walls were two meters high, but the two surfaces forming the ceiling angled sharply upward like the interior of a church steeple, towering nearly six meters above the dirt floor.

Water Serpent, a stout Maya warrior, squatted patiently on his haunches. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness because he had been waiting patiently in the dingy room for quite some time. He monitored the pelt-blocked entry while the remaining two warriors, Yellow Earth and East Sun, sat cross-legged and leaned against the wall opposite of the doorway. They appeared to be resting. But they, like Water Serpent, were elite warriors sharply attuned to their environment, able to instantaneously detect the hint of danger in their surroundings.

Inky tattoos enhanced the bulging muscles of their copper-colored shoulders, chests, arms and legs. Short headdresses fashioned from animal pelts, smooth stones, seashells and animal bones adorned their heads. Tattered deerskin fastened around their waists served as their main item of clothing. Thickened callouses had formed on their feet from years of service to their king. Sturdy wooden shields and sharp, pointed obsidian- tipped spears leaned against the wall within arms’ reach.

Each warrior stared sternly at the entrance as if in an hypnotic trance, dark brown eyes focused as if willing someone to enter. Three broad flattened foreheads, prominent brows and wide noses, seemingly sculpted from clay, waiting patiently for their divine futures. Only the sounds of their regular breathing relieved the chamber of pure silence.

Considerable time passed before the soft shuffling of footsteps and murmuring voices slipped past the crevices surrounding the suspended jaguar pelt. The sounds grew louder. Water Serpent rose at attention in the middle of the tomb-like room, unblinking eyes focused on the entry. Yellow Earth and East Sun lined up behind him, each anticipating the arrival of their regal leader.

Baritone voices, now more distinct, reached their ears. The warriors listened intently to the words, and recognized the voice of their city’s spiritual leader, the Highest Order of the White Sun, who was presenting his blessing. A shadow from a pair of man’s legs appeared at the slice of sunlight shining through the bottom of the portal.

Upon the conclusion of the blessing, a pointed bone spear tip protruded through one side of the jaguar skin and swept the pelt aside. Bright sunlight flooded the cramped chamber, silhouetting a looming figure.

All three warriors bowed to one knee in unison, shoulders back, chests out, hands resting on their knees. King Bat Jaguar strutted into the room. The Highest Order of the White Sun trailed two short paces behind him and leaned a wooden staff crosswise in the narrow opening to bar entry by others.

King Bat Jaguar’s ornate wooden headdress with its carved jaguar’s menacing jaws, an eagle’s sharpened beak, a serpent’s venomous fangs, and colorful emerald and scarlet feathers towered over the warriors. The King nodded slightly; the fluffy feathers on his headpiece swayed gently. Recognizing their leader’s signal, the three warriors stood and formed a line against the rear wall.

Water Serpent, the King said as he extended his beefy forearm and placed his hand firmly on the warrior’s muscular shoulder. Did you and your three warriors follow the three points of the White Walkway for three moons as I, Supreme Ruler of Coba, commanded?

Yes, Water Serpent responded.

Did you place the key in the black?

Water Serpent answered in the affirmative with a guttural reply.

In a black hole? King Bat Jaguar prodded.

Yes, Supreme Ruler of our people.

Did each of you present an offering as the Highest Order of the White Sun instructed? the King inquired.

I did, Water Serpent, Yellow Earth and East Sun replied in unison.

King Bat Jaguar smiled with approval. Because of your offerings, anyone without the blood of the Maya buried water reptile who tries to remove the key from its sacred resting place will do battle with the Three Disguises of the Earth.

Three of you have returned with the secret of our future, the King proclaimed. The fourth warrior from your group, One Deer, will share his secret with no man or woman. He positioned himself face to face with Yellow Earth and placed his wide hand on the warrior’s shoulder.

Coba owes all new suns and moons beyond the end of time to each of you, the King continued as he firmly squeezed Yellow Earth’s shoulder. Yellow Earth nodded his acceptance of the most honored of proclamations.

You, East Sun, also shall have your name and spirit honored in the noblest of manner. King Bat Jaguar repeated the honorary grip-andsqueeze gesture on East Sun’s shoulder, then turned. Highest Order of the White Sun. Inform the warriors outside of this temple, the Conjunto Las Picturas, that the work is complete. Upon your return, Water Serpent, Yellow Earth and East Sun will teach us how to find the key so that its location can be passed down among the future kings.

Several minutes later, the King huddled with his second in command and the three warriors. Each warrior relayed the specifics of his respective efforts, although none of them fully understood the significance of their combined efforts. East Sun explained in painstaking detail which stars he had followed and the location of the cenote, one of thousands of natural limestone wells prevalent in the Yucatan Peninsula. Yellow Earth described the construction and exact dimensions of The Wall and the precise dimension of its fist-sized opening.

Last but not least, Water Serpent recounted how One Deer and he descended the steep walls into the black with the key and located the black hole. Once inside, they hid the key in a deep crevice and positioned cut tree branches in front as additional protection.

Water Serpent told them of his ascent to the top where he retrieved three clay vessels filled with water and an animal skin filled with dried meat and fruit, and returned to One Deer who had remained behind in the black hole. He explained how One Deer had been selected to remain behind to guard the key, and had been honored to accept his destiny for the King. Lastly, he described their return trip to Coba.

King Bat Jaguar and the Highest Order of the White Sun absorbed the warriors’ reports. Once the warriors had finished, the King retold their tales nearly word for word, using his near perfect memory. He waited patiently while the Highest Order of the White Sun, after many questions, also committed the warriors’ travels to memory.

Tonight, King Bat Jaguar began, the blood from each of you, Coba’s most honored warriors, will spill upon the earth and into the black as your spirits ascend into the Upper World. Your faces will be inscribed on this temple, Conjunto Las Picturas, in the most prominent place for all of Coba to honor beyond the end of time.

The King bowed to each of them. They nodded their respect in return as they welcomed their fates. Each believed in the depths of their hearts that their sacrifices would forever preserve Coba’s future.

♦

One Deer half-leaned, half-laid on the rough rocky surface, his stocky legs and weakening body numb for a myriad of reasons. He had not left his post since arriving in the black hole at least nine days earlier. He had not eaten for six days. His three vessels of water ran out on the seventh day.

During the nine day span, he had willed himself to sleep in very brief increments. What little sleep he allowed took place in unbearable conditions. No animal pelts for comfort. Uneven, sharp rocks more dangerous than the ocean’s sharp coral to lay on. No fire for warmth. No steady circulating air. Just his steady breathing for companionship. Despite the harshness of his circumstances, One Deer would have gladly accepted the honor to again serve King Bat Jaguar in this, or even a more dangerous, capacity.

One Deer struggled to hold his eyes open. He stared at the pile of stacked tree branches, his memory of the key’s unsurpassed beauty fading rapidly with each shallow, labored breath. Gathering his remaining energy, he removed his razor-sharp obsidian knife from its animal skin sheath.

Using his right hand, he plunged the carefully honed blade into the inside of his left wrist. Crimson blood squirted from the self-inflicted wound, spattering the walls and the floor of the narrow crevice. He willed himself to ignore the pain. King Bat Jaguar would have been proud had he been there to witness the self-sacrifice.

One Deer thought about the Maya gods and their promises for his afterlife. He slowly faded into unconsciousness with the satisfaction that the Three Disguises of the Earth would guard the key in his afterlife until the appropriate time.

CHAPTER 1

Russell Palmer bounced his clenched fist on the plastic arm of the uncomfortable reception chair. Five days had passed in a blur of physical and emotional ups and downs, but the last hour confined in the tiny reception room of Mexico’s Office of Antiquities seemed like an eternity.

Are you sure that your knees are okay? Gabriela Reynoso asked as she clutched his upper arm. She sat next to him, sometimes appearing to doze lightly during the unexplained delay. Her police uniform contrasted with his knit shirt, khaki shorts and sandals.

He knew that she was trying to distract him. His knees and shins looked as though they had been suspended in the churning Caribbean Sea with a school of angry barracuda. They’re fine, he assured her as he tried to relax. His thoughts turned to the events of the last five days. In his wildest imagination, he couldn’t have conjured up such an opportunity for a Central American studies professor of a small university in Los Angeles.

The adventure began with a telephone call from his close colleague, Brandon Sharpe, who was at Tulum, an ancient Maya site about sixty miles south of Cancun. Brandon had discovered that a tourist, Sabrina Whelan, had been sacrificed Maya-style on the sacred chacmool, an altar, just hours before he arrived at the site. Based on research, Russell feared that Sabrina’s gruesome murder was the first of at least two which needed to be performed in order to locate a valuable Maya idol, also known as the key.

He immediately flew to Cancun to assist Brandon, but the task proved extremely difficult since they didn’t have any documentary proof of their theory that the idol needed to be recovered for use in a Maya ritual to extend time beyond December 27, 2012. The date represented the end of the intricate Maya calendar system, and presumably by some, the end of time.

Brandon’s local friend, Carmen Trejada, assisted them as they crossed the Caribbean Sea from Playa del Carmen to the library on the island of Cozumel. However, upon their return to the mainland, Gabriela Reynoso, the Cancun police officer sitting next to him, arrested Brandon and charged him with Sabrina’s murder.

After considerable effort and a lucky break in identifying Sabrina’s killer, Gabriela began to trust Russell, Brandon and Carmen. She ultimately gained the support of her superior officer and commandeered a small contingent of officers to the search the jungles in the Yucatan Peninsula for the real killer.

Gabriela and he tracked the murderer, who used the name Stuart Everly, to a remote cenote, one of the hundreds of limestone wells ensconced in the lush rain forests. Stuart was leading his latest sacrificial victim, Pamela Danielson, to a sacred site for a special ritual of her own. Fortunately, Gabriela and he had arrived in time to save Pamela, but not before Russell had crushed his knees and shins on a crumbling ancient Maya wall.

The surprised Stuart Everly, whose real name was Thomas Lowe, a man that Russell had met at an archaeology conference, used a rope to scurry down the walls of the cenote in an effort to escape. Russell damaged his knees and shins even more when he gave chase after his quarry disappeared from site.

A suspicious noise had drawn Russell into a narrow opening as he descended. He thought he was chasing Thomas, but instead he found the ancient idol. Before he could inspect it closer, he heard Thomas screaming from one of the other passages farther down in the cenote. Russell rushed to the opening just in time to see Thomas stumble below him in a flurry of angry bats and fall into the cenote’s murky waters after striking his head on an outcropping. Thomas’ body sank into the dark waters before the authorities could recover it.

Based on his knowledge and experience in the recovery of artifacts, Russell left the key in place and informed the authorities of his discovery. He wanted to inform Mexico’s Office of Antiquities and hopefully participate in an expedition team to recover it. He had prepared a report of the events at the request of the Assistant Director, Alejandro Juarez, and arranged for the ten o’clock meeting at his office. Gabriela had insisted on joining Russell for the three hour westerly drive across the Yucatan Peninsula to Assistant Director’s office in Merida.

In a few short days, Russell had grown to admire Gabriela in many respects, yet found himself confused by some of her actions. He had spent so much time with her over the last few days that he felt as if he was dating her. They enjoyed late meals and walks on the beach as the analyzed their actions and speculated on what would happen to the idol after it was recovered from its hiding place.

He had grown fond of her, and suspected that she had romantic feelings for him as well. However, he found her so different from his fiancé, who had been murdered in front of him years earlier. Russell still couldn’t shake the emotions of his first love from his thoughts, which made him question his true reasons for enjoying his time with Gabriela.

She seemed conflicted about their relationship as well, yet neither voiced any concerns. She exercised a firm command of those around her despite her gender and age in a male-dominated profession. She exhibited honesty and integrity in all aspects of her official position, very uncommon in a police force that was rife with unscrupulous pay-offs by young, unsuspecting, party-going tourists who visited Cancun by the tens of thousands, especially during spring break. Her toughness made her seem unapproachable most of the time.

But Russell had also heard about her softer side, such as her commitment to her mother and younger sister. He suspected that she would give her life to help them if necessary. She also flirted with him at times. She would grab his hand and pull him close on occasion, or give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Sometimes she would tease him with a flashy smile that matched a twinkle in her dark chocolate eyes. However, she didn’t welcome his advances, particularly if work or family was on her mind. Just as well, he thought. He wasn’t able to save his fiancé, so he didn’t deserve another chance.

He looked as his watch. It was half past eleven.

Any moment now, she assured him as if reading his thoughts.

He rolled his eyes. Russell had taken considerable efforts in his report to detail the events that led to the key’s discovery. Now he feared that his efforts would be ignored and that someone would recover the Maya key first. A flashing light on the secretary’s telephone caught his eye.

The secretary pushed a button and the flashing stopped. Director Juarez will see you now, the secretary announced from her desk in a snobbish tone. ‘Director?’ Russell thought that Juarez was an assistant director.

♦

Russell and Gabriela sat patiently for several minutes in front of the Assistant Director’s hand-carved wooden desk while he perused the report. Alejandro Juarez furrowed his bushy black eyebrows, shaking his head as he finished reading the last sheet in the manila file. Horizontal wrinkles formed across his broad bronze-skinned forehead. He flipped the fastened down pages with his thick fingers and closed the file, leaving it lay in front of him as the only file on his desktop.

He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt and burgundy striped tie. His stocky shoulders and thick biceps stretched the jacket’s silky material, making the pinstripes look as if they had been drawn by someone under the influence of alcohol. A bald spot had shown through his bushy salt and pepper hair while his face was buried in the report.

The dark wooden shelving behind him displayed frayed woven baskets, fractured clay pots, carved masks, polished shells and stone figurines, each the ancient handiwork of the Aztecs, Toltecs or Maya, the civilizations that had thrived in Mexico’s mountains and mesas centuries earlier. His air conditioned office in Merida, a city centrally located in the Yucatan Peninsula, was otherwise bare of any framed certificates, artwork or personal objects.

Quite a report, Officer Reynoso, he said skeptically. What do you propose that the Department of Antiquities do about this, he rolled his eyes mid-question, this thing you call a key?

We should make plans to recover it immediately, before someone else discovers it, Gabriela Reynoso responded firmly. The key belongs in a museum. It needs to be studied.

Why the rush? This report states that the only other person besides you two and your superior who knows about the key is dead, Juarez nodded to Russell Palmer.

Don’t you get it? Russell asked as he jumped up from his leather armchair next to Gabriela. He had sat quietly while Assistant Director Juarez silently mulled the report without the slightest show of interest in its contents. But his patience had evaporated at the Assistant Director’s lackadaisical attitude. This could be the most important find about the Maya in decades! he exclaimed, exercising all of his will power to prevent himself from strangling Alejandro Juarez.

Senor Palmer! You must restrain yourself or I will personally have you removed from our offices, Juarez warned, his voice booming against the walls. He rose from his high-backed leather chair as if to meet Russell’s challenge, his broad shoulders exuding power over Russell’s less-thanathletic frame.

Gabriela grabbed Russell’s arm and pulled him back into his seat. Russ! Please sit, she cautioned. I am sure Senor Juarez will do everything in his power to recover the key. We just want to stress the importance that the Department act quickly.

Both men relaxed slightly, but Russell couldn’t resist his gut instinct. The supposed dead man may have had help. It’s there in the report, Russell pointed to the closed folder. If he did, you may not have any time to waste. I can’t believe you are even thinking about delaying the recovery of such a valuable artifact.

Russell had endured extensive questioning by the investigators, who had treated him as if he were guilty despite Gabriela’s intervention. Odd, he thought as he eyed the file on Juarez’s desk, he didn’t recall seeing his written report in its contents. He began to wonder if the investigators had included all of his information in their findings.

The Assistant Director pushed the manila folder aside. As the report concludes, Senor Palmer, that there is no concrete proof that this dead man had any assistance. You make is seem as if the only undiscovered Maya artifact in the Yucatan Peninsula is this key. As an experienced professor, you are well aware that thousands of square kilometers of known Maya sites remain unexplored. You know that my department has thousands of employees, many who are currently excavating at least a hundred of these sites, while other employees do what they can to prevent looting at Maya ruins and trafficking of the artifacts. He plucked a pencil from the plastic container on his desk and twirled it slowly between his thick fingers, apparently trying to distract his tension.

With all due respect, did you read the report? Russell asked sarcastically. One girl died because of the key. Another was seriously maimed. Do you have all of your employees searching for other artifacts that are so important that someone like Tom Lowe is out planning more sacrifices?

Senor Palmer! To imply that I have not read the report is preposterous! Juarez snapped the pencil in two, its sickening crack emphasizing the last word. Only one man is implicated in the report. Stuart Everly, whose real name was Thomas Lowe. He grabbed the broken halves of the pencil and tossed them toward a hard plastic wastebasket in the corner. One half found the container with a dull thud while the other half bounced off the wall onto the carpeted floor.

Russell shifted uncomfortably under the Assistant Director’s heated glare.

If you did not identify all of the persons involved to the authorities, Juarez continued in a raised voice, then I will have no choice but to take you into custody myself for your failure to cooperate.

Please! Russ! Gabriela interceded. She stretched her arm between them as if separating feuding children. Calm down! Let me clarify the report.

The Assistant Director and Russell refused to back down, unyielding eyes locked in a visual Mexican stand-off. Juarez’s burgundy tie swayedacross the edge of the desk, brushing the manila folder. Russell knew that the first to back down would implicitly concede.

He also knew that there were times when he had to pick his battles and not lose sight of the war. He estimated that Juarez was about fifty years old and slightly overweight. Russell had nearly ten years on him and was in better shape, but a physical altercation wouldn’t solve their disagreement. He sat back in his chair.

We told the authorities everything, Senor Juarez, Gabriela began. Unfortunately, Senor Lowe never told us who was assisting him. He merely alluded that he had help. We think several people helped him because he acted as if a team was standing by to assist him. Why the investigators didn’t include the information in the report is not Russ’ fault.

What makes you so sure he had assistance? the Assistant Director asked, ignoring Russell as if he wasn’t in the office.

I think Russ is the best person to answer that question.

Feeling her boost of support, Russell said, I met Mr. Lowe at a conference in Chicago several months ago, maybe a year. He told other attendees that he was a reporter. Now I suspect that he was trying to learn something about the key. He wasn’t a professor or an archaeologist, so he needed someone knowledgeable about the Maya civilization to fill in some blanks.

And you helped him, Juarez said accusingly.

No, I didn’t, Russell retorted.

So, Senor Palmer, who did?

Russell shook his head. There were fifty to sixty attendees, maybe more. I didn’t notice him spending any appreciable time with any of them. I simply shook his hand during a brief introduction. I’d never met him before and had no reason to be suspicious.

Russ. Let’s focus on the other reason why we think he had help, Gabriela gently touched his shoulder.

Russell shot her a look that could have pierced a kevlar vest. He recognized that he was on extremely tenuous ground with Alejandro Juarez. The meeting was not proceeding as he had planned. The Assistant Director seemed intent on proving Russell guilty of sacrificing Sabrina Whelan, the young girl that Thomas Lowe admitted sacrificing in Tulum. At least he had Gabriela as a witness when they found Lowe in the act of trying to sacrifice Pamela Danielson at the cenote. As he sat in front of Juarez’s incriminating eyes, the last thing he wanted to do was reveal what he had discussed privately with Gabriela the previous evening.

Now what are you hiding? Juarez boomed. Even Gabriela slunk down in her chair.

Russell eyed Gabriela and gestured with tightly pursed lips in an effort to silence her. She shrugged as if she didn’t understand.

Listen to me! Both of you! He nearly screamed. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll personally take both of you into custody right now!

Can we have a moment alone? Russell ventured.

I can do better than that, the Assistant Director spun around in his chair and grabbed the telephone on his matching credenza. I’ll have my officers escort both of you to private cells where you will sit until I decide when to set you free.

Gabriela’s jaw dropped in obvious shock. Russell rolled his eyes, then slumped toward Juarez with both elbows on the desk, surrendering to his gut feeling.

Hold on. Hold on, Russell said in a civil voice, palms out as if motioning him to halt. It’s just that what we have to say is very sensitive.

Juarez paused, then slowly returned the handset to its cradle. He turned to face them.

Well, Senor Palmer? What is so sensitive that you feel the need to keep it from a man in my position?

Russell glanced to Gabriela seeking assurance. She shrugged her shoulders as if to confirm that they had no choice. They had discussed the possibility of being forced to disclose all of their theories, and the necessity to proceed with caution if faced with their current circumstances.

Our concern is that . . .

Assistant Director Juarez, Gabriela interrupted. We are confident that your men are doing everything they are asked to do. I’m sure that they work as hard as, if not harder, than my fellow officers to protect the Maya sites, and that they do so proudly. She paused as if searching for the right words.

Russell shifted toward her to present a united front while he debated whether she was sugarcoating it too much. Strength in numbers, he thought, even if it was only two to one. Unfortunately, he realized in his current predicament, the one behind the desk outranked the two in front of the desk.

But? Juarez asked.

Senor Lowe may have needed someone to help him move the key out of Mexico, she let the words sink in. "Possibly,